THE PATRON.
Tuesday and Wednesday had passed quickly away, and Thursday brought to Owen amusements similar to those of the previous days; but no private intercourse with his relations. In the evening of his third day at Abertewey, there was a concert at the neighbouring town, huge bills of which had been posted up on the walls and houses of the said town, purporting that the entertainment was under the immediate patronage of Howel Jenkins, Esq. of Plas Abertewey, and his friends. Elegant little pink and blue programmes were scattered over that patriotic gentleman's tables, and he had used his eloquent language, and made great efforts to get together a large party for the occasion.
It was principally a Welsh concert, he urged, and he considered it right to patronise native talent. There was the celebrated Eos, and the last representative of the ancient bards, and the best specimen of a Welsh harper, besides several respectable English singers, and he, for one, should muster as many supporters as he possibly could.
He did so, accordingly, and with that spirit of liberality which characterised him when any popularity was to be acquired thereby purchased a great number of tickets, and distributed them amongst his servants and neighbours with majestic grace. He had managed to enlist a large party at Mr Rice Rice's the previous evening, some of whom were to dine at Abertewey, and to go thence to the concert; others to meet him and his friends there.
Owen felt lost in the grandeur of that evening, and would have been quite forgotten but for Mme. Duvet, who was constant in her admiration of him. But it was amusement and wonder enough for him to watch Howel and Netta, quite en prince et princesse, receiving their guests, who, if not as yet of the aristocracy of the county, were of high respectability and good position in it. If the host and hostess were rather desirous of showing how grand they were, their dinner and wines were so good as to cover their efforts.
What if their guests remarked, as guests will, gentle reader, when our backs are turned, that Howel was insufferably purse-proud and conceited, and his wife as affected and provincial as possible; they did not hear the friendly notices, and were well content to fill the concert room with their party, all in full dress, to the admiration of the townsfolk, and of Mrs Griffey Jenkins in particular.
Howel had quite forgotten his mother in his general invitation and did not even see her for some time, seated in a prominent position, and making one of his own party, to all appearance. She had saved his character for filial duty by going where he would little have thought of placing her, and awaiting his arrival, as her pride impelled her to do. Owen spied her at once, and took Mme. Duvet to the seat next her, on her left; whilst on her right sat Mr Deep, and nigh to him, of all people in the world, Mrs Rice Rice, that staunch supporter of family dignity.
Owen shook hands with Aunt 'Lizbeth, and introduced her to Madame Duvet and Mr Deep, after having asked them first of all whether they had seen her previously.
'I never had that honour,' said Madame Duvet, curtseying.
'I didn't be going to Abertewey since you was coming there, ma'am,' said Mrs Griffey, rising and curtseying, to the unspeakable diversion of Mrs Rice Rice and Mr Deep.
The reader may remember that Mrs Jenkins was at Abertewey when Howel made his triumphant entry there, but the following morning he gave her to understand, as delicately as he could, that the idiomatic translations of the Welsh language which had been so refreshing in London, would be better in her native town than at Abertewey, and she departed accordingly.
His ire may be imagined, when he suddenly heard the well-known idioms lavished upon Madame Duvet and Mr Deep, who were enjoying them a great deal more than the concert, which, being principally in the vernacular, was not so intelligible and far less amusing. Mrs Jenkins was in her glory. Never had Mrs Rice Rice been so condescending before. She and Mr Deep made themselves more agreeable than she had supposed it possible for such grand people to be, and she frequently glanced at Owen, as much as to say, 'And I am the person that your father turned out of doors!'
Owen, on his side, was sorry that he had exposed her to the sarcasm that she so little understood, and talked to Madame Duvet to withdraw attention from her.
As to Howel, his rising sun was obscured—his blushing honours were dimmed—his majesty, patronage, grandeur were lowered by the propinquity of his nearest of kin. In the midst of his county friends himself, he still felt that his mother was making herself ridiculous near at hand; whilst complimented and thanked for his patriotic support of native cos, [Footnote: Nightingales.] the native idioms rang in his ears, and he longed to annihilate them altogether. This on his right hand. On his left, Netta, looking literally like 'a rose in June,' and receiving the very marked attentions of Captain Dancy, on one side, and of Mr Rice Rice, junior, on the other. He scarcely knew which was most irritating, 'the idioms,' or her affected giggle. Trite but true is the proverb, 'There is no rose without its thorn;' and Howel was pricked severely by the thorns surrounding the rose of his first step into popularity.
Between the acts, and between the songs, Mrs Griffey went on something in this sort,—
'Indeet yes, sir! treue for you there. The Welsh is a splendit language. My son Howels—there he is to be proving it—do always say so. Ah! that's "The rising of the lark," I was singing that myself years ago. London! to be seure! Now there was singing I was hearing at the play. My son Howels did tak us to the play. I never was hearing or seeing the like in my life. Seure, the Queen Victoria or Prince Albert don't be dressing half as fine as the gentlemen and ladies I was seeing act. The Queen! Oh, Mrs Rice Rice, fach! Ma'am, I was disappointed! Just a bonnet no better than my doater-in-law's. What, sir! a crown? Not 'sactly a crown; but I was 'specting to see a queen different from other people. Hush! I do hear my son Howels cry, "Silence!" and they do be playing "Ap Shenkin." Not so bad that for Wales, Mrs Rice Rice. My son Howels do sing beautiful himself, and do play—Hush! look you at him. He don't like tolking in the music. He, he, he, sir! you do make me laugh. To be seure I don't mean to be marrying again, though men are so much for money. I am thinking you gentlemen 'ould be marrying your grandmothers for the beauty money! Not my son Howels, indeet! He don't be wanting money. He marry his cousin for love. Hush you! There's Pengoch beginning a Penyll! You don't be hearing anything like that in England. Ach a fi! my 'deet, I am sorry. "God save the Queen!" and it don't seem an hour since they began!'
Mrs Jenkins stood up with the rest, and beat time emphatically Scarcely was the last verse of 'God save the Queen' finished, when Howel came up to his mother, and biting his tongue to keep in his ire, said—
'Mother, I will see you safe first!' and without allowing her time to do more than make a curtsey to her companions, offered her his arm, and led her quickly down the room. He did not venture to speak to her, but nodding to one and another as he passed, said, 'I shall be back directly. I am just going to send my mother home first,' reached the door, and called for his carriage. It was close at hand, the hour for ordering the carriages being past; and he speedily put his mother into it. 'Drive Mrs Jenkins home, and return immediately,' he exclaimed.
'Which way, ma'am?' asked the servant.
'Go you down the street, then turn to the right, and the first house with a railing and steps, and a brass knocker,' said Mrs Jenkins, exulting as they drove off in her new dignity and importance. Howel, on the contrary, returned to the concert-room, cursing his folly for having settled in his native county, and wishing his mother anywhere else.
Nevertheless, he received the thanks of the conductor of the concert with bland humility, and expressed his intention of using all his best efforts in behalf of his country and countrymen. Finally he assisted in cloaking and shawling the ladies, seeing them to their carriages, and bidding them condescending good nights.
For himself, however, he had not a good night, being haunted with the demons of jealousy and discontent. As soon as Netta and he were alone, he addressed her in very different tones from those which he had called forth for the ladies of the concert-room.
'Netta, why do you let Dancy pay you such attentions?' he began, with a scowling brow and flashing eye.
'Why does Mme. Duvet let you pay her such attention?' was Netta's instant reply.
Now Netta was too well pleased with herself, and the effect of her beauty on others, to endure being snubbed, and was very angry that Howel was not pleased also.
'Don't be a fool, Netta. You know Madame Duvet is doing all she can to catch Owen.'
'Oh! jealous are you? Well, there were plenty of other ladies who let you pay them attention; why was that I wonder?'
'I tell you what it is, Netta, I won't allow Dancy to devote himself to you as he does.'
'Then you had better tell him so, I ain't going to do it; he's your friend, and if he admires me, I think you ought to be proud of it.'
'You did nothing but flirt and giggle with him all the evening. What with you on one side and my mother on the other, I thought I must have left the room.'
'Giggle, indeed; I don't know what you mean, sir; you never eused to say I giggled.'
'Can't you say used, and not eused, you will never cease to be provincial,'
'Other folks are provincial, I think, besides me. If you said your own mother was provincial, it 'ould be true enough.'
'There again! if you are your own natural self, you leave out all your w's directly; I wish you would be careful, Netta.'
'Well, so do the French. I declare I won't speak again to-night, that I won't, you cross, unnatural, unfeeling fellow; and all because you're jealous of Owen. Madame Duvet says he's the handsomest man she ever saw, and that his beard is enough to win any woman's heart.'
'You had better hold your tongue, I think,' said Howel, stifling a laugh at the idea of Owen's irresistible beard; 'you never say a word of sense.'
'And you never say a kind word,' said Netta, breaking down at that last attack, and beginning to cry.
'Now don't blubber, and let all the house hear you.'
'I wonder whether leaving out a w is half as vulgar as to tell one's wife not to blubber. But I won't speak to you again. I wish I hadn't married you, I do.'
'I wish to heaven you hadn't.'
At this Netta began to sob very much, and Howel softened somewhat, but not sufficiently to make any excuse for his conduct; and Netta went to bed, proud, indignant, and unhappy, and wishing herself back again at Glanyravon.
The next morning, Owen remarked that Netta did not speak to Howel at all, and that she was very reserved and strange in her manner to Captain Dancy. The captain, however, took no notice of the change, but whilst he seemed to converse more than usual with Miss Simpson, anticipated all Netta's wants and wishes with most insinuating tact. Netta, with her changing colour, and half-pettish, half-shy manner, was still more attractive than Netta affected and silly. Owen thought that Howel felt this, for he went behind her chair, and put his hand on her shoulder, whilst he asked for some more sugar in his tea. Netta's lips pouted, but her eyes brightened as she said in a half whisper, 'You're sweeter than you were, Howel.'
Howel excused the common-place allusion to the sugar, in consideration of the bright face that looked up at him, and so the storm lulled for the present.
This was Owen's fourth day at Abertewey, and it was a facsimile of the second, with the exception that Mr and Miss Simpson and Mr Deep did not go to the dinner-party to which the rest went, at a neighbouring country house, so Owen had company at dinner, and was ordered by Netta to do the honours.
Miss Simpson refused to play whist, and Owen declined billiards, so whilst Mr Deep got as much money as he could out of Mr Simpson, Owen devoted himself and his captivating beard to Miss Simpson.
In the course of conversation that young lady informed him that she and her brother intended leaving Abertewey the following week, and that she supposed the rest of the party would soon follow for the Ascot Races, and she hoped Owen would join them; she was sure her papa and mamma would be very glad to see him. She also let out that her brother, Captain Dancy, and Howel had heavy bets on the different horses that were to run, and that she expected there would be great excitement. As to Mr Deep, nobody quite knew what he did, he was so very reserved and quiet.
Owen stayed on at Abertewey day after day, he scarcely knew why. In the first place, he was very well amused, and liked his quarters. In the second, his new friends all liked him; the women for his good looks and open-hearted civility, the men, because he took his own course and did not interfere with them, and was a very amusing fellow besides. In the third place, he stayed on because he felt anxious about Howel and Netta and their way of beginning life. He had been a man careless of money himself all his days, but he had been, as the saying goes, no one's enemy but his own—he feared that Howel might turn out, not only his own foe but the foe of others, since he perceived that the propensities of his unmonied youth were strengthening and maturing in his monied manhood. He had no opinion of any man who would fleece another, and he saw that Howel and Mr Deep were preying upon the simple, conceited Mr Simpson, and the careless, lavish Sir Samuel Spendall. As to Mr Deep, he watched his opportunity of outwitting either of the four as it offered.
Saturday came and passed, as usual, in visiting and gambling. A good many of the sporting men of the country called to see Howel's famous race-horse, Campaigner, in training for the St Leger, and to indulge in a little of the sporting gossip of the day, whilst their womankind indulged in more general, and equally intellectual, country gossip. Some of the young men stayed to dinner, and when Miss Simpson had duly played her waltzes, and Netta had gone through her French songs, vingt-et-un was proposed.
Owen took his customary place by Madame Duvet, and played his usual game. But he had not the luck of the previous evening, and soon lost the five pounds he then won, and very nearly the little he possessed besides. When he knew that he was within a few shillings of bankruptcy he said,—
'I am very sorry to leave such agreeable society, but if I play any more I shall never get to sea. Look at my purse!' holding it up and shaking it, 'it is very nearly empty.'
'Luck will change,' said Madame Duvet. 'You shall go partners with me,' pointing to a large heap of money and counters.
'I should be only too happy if I could bring anything to the bank, said Owen; 'but I am too proud to be a penniless partner.'
'You need only bring yourself,' said Madame Duvet, lowering her voice, and giving such a glance from a pair of fine black eyes as few men could have withstood.
Perhaps Owen would have yielded to it, for he was by no means a hero, had not a sudden vision of Gladys passed before his mind, followed by one of his mother, just as he had seen her when she bade him that last solemn good-night only the Tuesday in that very week. How the vision came he knew not, nor did he pause to ask; but it gave him strength to resist the temptation to begin regular gambling, a vice he had hitherto steadily avoided.
'No,' he said, with a merry laugh; 'I cannot afford to run into debt.'
'Mortgage those entailed farms of yours,' said Howel. 'I wouldn't mind lending you a trifle on them.'
'And I will lend you five pounds without a mortgage,' said Netta.
'Can't afford to borrow or mortgage,' laughed Owen. 'Besides it is nearly Sunday morning, and we must all break up directly,' so he slipped away from his seat, looked on for a few minutes, and when the party were again absorbed in their game, went to bed.
'Well,' he thought; 'I am not as particular as I ought to be, I know, myself; but to play cards into Sunday morning! I could not do this. What would my poor mother say of Netta if she knew it? I will have a serious conversation with her to-morrow, when I suppose she will have an hour to spare, and be off on Monday. I almost wish I had never come. That Madame Duvet, too! One cannot help paying her attention, and she is very handsome and agreeable; but even if there were no Gladys, she wouldn't suit me; and here am I almost making her believe—Pashaw! She don't care for me. What a vain fellow I am! But, I suppose, as Netta says, they admire my beard. All but Gladys, who won't even look at it, or me. I wonder what she would think of me in the midst of all these fine people, dressed up in Howel's London attire! At any rate I shouldn't be half as worthy of her good opinion as when I carried that unfortunate mash to the Alderney, which caused the rumpus with my father. How beautiful the girl looked, leaning upon that fortunate animal; and what a fool I made of myself on the other side of her! Well, I was never so happy at home before; and I know it isn't right to leave my father and mother; and I have never done any good all my life; and I, the eldest son, and very nearly thirty years of age! Poor uncle and aunt gave me an education, to very little purpose I fear; and I shall have to answer for the use I have made of it, just as those Sabbath-breakers downstairs will have to answer for profaning this holy day. Half of it is the force of example. Here is Howel leading Netta to destruction, just as Gladys might lead me to—heaven, I verily believe. Rowland used to argue with me about individual responsibility, and I suppose he was in the right of it.'